:: Saturday, August 24, 2002 ::

Hoi An - Nha Trang - Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon)

Planes, pains and automobiles

Guess who's back? Back again...
We is back... Tell a friend.
Guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back? Der, der, der, DOOM, der, doom, der, doom, der, doom, der...[repeat ad nauseam.]

Hello hip-hoppers... Well, you didn't think that just cos we're out of the country we're not getting our dose of 'yoof culcha' did you? Yes indeed, MTV has hit Asia big time, and every two-bit hotel and backpacker dive is showing it. The Indonesian version is particularly enticing - with hit shows such as Salam Dangdut, and charming ballads like Berdua Dua by half-siren, half-ape, but 100% borderline boiler Delia Paramitha. But that's nothing compared to the stars of Vietnamese national TV. One wonders if May Trang (the Vietnamese 'Spice Girls') are really in the right industry - they are all fantastic lookers, granted, but alas they cannot sing for sh!t and they have teeth that would make Austin Powers' Mum wince. As for spiky-haired Robbie Williams-a-likes Lam Truong and Lam Vi, well... they sound like they'd go better with a plate of pilau and a garlic naan than a recording contract. Half rice, half chips of course.

On another cultural note, it seems the Vietnamese have embraced the music of the Hispanic and Germanic worlds. Yes indeed, from portable ice-cream carts can be heard the haunting melodies of the Lambada and La Cucaracha in ultra-modern monotonal digital sound. As if this weren't enough to send any music connoisseur into aural ecstasy, it is complemented by the breathtaking beauty of Fuer Elise and Love Song (you know, from that musical) effortlessly swimming across the street towards you from the almost orchestral horns of many-a-reversing lorry. Oh, where would we be without music?

Re-winding (selecta) a few days to our time in Hoi An: as well as getting a new made-to-measure wardrobe each for the cost of a pair of pants in the UK, we also met some interesting characters. Not least of which a young girl who helped out at her parents' restaurant and made a few extra bucks by selling useless tat to gullible tourists. We were extra-lucky. Having decided to buy a pot of 'angel-balm' off her in order to get rid of her, we were then treated to her charming conversation. Some of Barney's less charitable chums will no doubt be amused to hear that this cheeky chappess was convinced I was not human but simian. And after spying the earrings, she concluded I must be a female simian. Not content with emptying my wallet like any normal person, she ensured that the streets echoed to the sound of 'oi! Monkey girl!' every time I walked anywhere near. And it's a small town Hoi An, oh yes...

As with all Vietnamese tourist destinations, Hoi An was jam-packed with hawkers and street vendors, who hound you at every opportunity. It came as something of a relief therefore when a sweet old man with a gentle voice came paddling up next to us on the river front and offered us a boat ride in his ramshackle, balsa-wood paddle-boat. Although we blanked him at first, we eventually realised that an hour on the river for next-to-nothing might be just what we needed. So we jumped in with our customary grace and elegance (nearly sending the boat a over t). The old chap was so bubbly and friendly, and so energetic with his paddling, that it took us a good few minutes to notice that one of his pyjama legs was rolled up, and there was no leg underneath. He told us that he had been fishing on a wooden boat one day in 1970 when a US plane flew overhead and scored a direct hit, smashing the boat, and his leg, to smithereens. Since then, he'd occupied himself with tourism as best he could. His prized possession (kept in its own a plastic bag) was a battered old paperback atlas. He showed us the names of different countries in Vietnamese ('Ai-len' is Ireland, 'O-tre-li-a' is Australia etc) and then asked us how big some European cities (including 'Mok-se-va', 'Pa-ri' and 'Lan-din') are in comparison with Vietnamese cities. Resident geography guru Barney (ahem) did his best to show him with awkward hand movements, and despite Mr Truong's 65-years he seemed childishly enthralled by it all. As minor as this all sounds it was one of the nicest hours we've spent in Vietnam.

Before we go any further, back to that bus trip we mentioned at the end of the last diary entry. You know, the one where the nice travel agent (recommended in Lonely Planet, dontchaknow?) swore blind that his bus was comfortable, modern and leak-free and the roads in South Vietnam were all US-built and therefore much better than their counterparts in the North. Well, surprise, surprise. Only once on the bus (with no refund permitted) do we discover there are no reclining seats, no leg room, backpacks crammed along the length of the gangway (meaning the only exit for toilet stops was OUT THE WINDOW!), and leaky air-con. And the roads were 10 times worse, with non-stop pot-holes and roadworks. To cap it all off, there was a fearsome rainstorm which had already flooded Hoi An, and continued for 8 hours into the journey, most of it dripping onto our seats. Yes folks, we can exclusively reveal that travelling by coach ('luxury' or otherwise) in Vietnam is to be avoided. At all costs...

...Which I guess is why we got the plane from Nha Trang to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). Left our hotel on 23rd August at 7am, got to the airport at 7.10, checked in, left at 8.30 and arrived at 9.30. All for a staggeringly expensive 25 quid a head. Aaaaaaah! And relax...

Nha Trang itself was lovely. Powdery-sand beaches, lovely blue sea, swimming pools, iced drinks on demand, and some damn fine pizza restaurants all conspired to give us a relaxing few days. Barney got all excited one day and hired a motorbike to see the sights. Needless to say, I returned a few hours later with some mediocre photos, a wallet emptied by conniving kids who told me they were orphans with no Mummy and Daddy (codswallop as I was laughlingly informed by a couple of Aussies on my way out), and a gleaming exhaust burn on my leg. What could be better?

So far, Saigon is much as expected: bigger, dirtier, noisier and more chaotic than Hanoi. There is even more traffic here too, which is almost unbelievable. Got stuck in a Cyclo at some traffic lights yesterday (the first traffic lights in weeks) and the motorbikes, bikes and lorries were so densely jammed together at the junction that nobody moved for 10 minutes until a handful of people mounted the pavement and cleared the way. Also experienced a 'roundabout'. A more fearsome experience we can't imagine, as vehicles approach you from all sides and nobody gives way to anyone. Yet miraculusly the locals manage this day in, day out, with remarkably few accidents.

Easily the most disturbing place in Saigon is the American War Crimes Museum, documenting various atrocities, as well as everyday life for soldiers on both sides, during the Vietnam War. Amongst the more stomach-churning exhibits are photos of children and adults with hideous deformities and skin diseases as a result of agent-orange and napalm-poisoning. There are even two preserved foetuses in jars - one of a baby with an oversized head and another of deformed stillborn Siamese twins. There are also photos of the My Lai massacre, as well as defused US bombs, tanks and warplanes. One of the bombs weighs several tonnes, and had the power to destroy all oxygen within a 500m radius and send seismic waves over a 4km area. Another sprayed out thousands of darts on impact. Naturally, these were only ever aimed at "military" targets... As another amputee Barney met at the foot of a Cham temple pointed out: he didn't hate the Americans for blowing off both his arms and one of his eyes at the age of 11, but he hated War. He'd just heard about the US bombing of Afghani civilians at a wedding ceremony a few weeks ago, and it had brought back uncomfortable memories. Although he had survived, he had been reducing to begging for the last 25 years, because he couldn't physically work and there were no state benefits to be had, neither from the Vietnamese nor the American side.

We have decided to extend our Vietnam visas to give us time to explore the Mekong Delta and surrounding area in a bit more detail. Watch this space.

And, as our chum Eminem so eloquently puts it,

I'm not the first king of con-tro-VER-sy, I am the best thing since EL-vis PRES-ley.

OK, I really will shut up now.
:: Barney 6:33 AM [+] ::
...

Ha Noi - Hue - Danang - Hoi An

An over-"land" adventure

Left Hanoi, one wet evening on the 'night bus' to Hue. It rained, inside the bus, inside Claire's seat and eventually, inside her trousers. Several other passengers had this problem, but on alerting the driver, he pretended we were all invisible. So disturbing was this behaviour that one girl actually poked him in the shoulder, I think to check if he was real or not! Anyway, he forgot he was meant to be invisible at one point (which was lucky as he was meant to be driving the bus) and said "what do you want me to do about it?" So the eternally helpful Claire advised several options... stopping to see where the water was coming from and plugging it with something, giving her another seat (there weren't any) or a refund, or giving me a blanket, (of which the 'staff' had many, but the customers alas few), to sit on while it was raining (on the floor of course). He did none of the aforementioned things and so the wee petal sat, defiantly, in front of him on Barney's blow up travel cushion for the next two hours until the rain stopped. While she was there, someone had the silly idea of asking him to turn the air-con down (as it was freezing), so when they'd gone back to their seat, he turned it up to a full on ice-age and smirked quietly to himself.

The 'night' journey was broken up every few hours The first stop was after one hour - before all the trouble started - at a cafe which sold bats, rat foetuses and snakes (in their own juice) in huge jars with taps on them, just in case you only wanted the juice. Your loyal diarists were considering asking someone about this when we got shepherded back onto the bus. At the next cockroach-infested filthy squat-bog stop, one English bloke was so cold, he took the 'staff' blankets hostage, and threatened to keep them if they didn't open the boot to allow us get out more clothes to wear. The (until this point) laughing driver's face suddenly dropped and he grudgingly opened the boot. When the rain stopped and Claire could go back to her seat, it was only the persistant twin-tone air-horn blasting we had to suffer.

After 14 hours, we finally arrived in Hue, where we had a thoroughly pleasant few days indeed. Among other things we took a motorbike tour in temperatures of 35 degrees+ around the many pagodas and imperial mausoleums near Hue, and explored the enormous imperial Citadel, which still covers half the area of the town. Inside the citadel is the 'forbidden purple city', where the Emperor's many concubines lived, ate, slept and, well... concubined. The only people allowed inside of the compound other than the big man were his eunuchs - not considered much of a threat where the ladies were concerned. Most of the citadel is still in good condition, but predictably enough the most interesting bit (the forbidden city) was bombed into oblivion by our lovely friends the yanks.

Did we mention the yanks? While we're on the subject, we'll tell you about the De-Militarised Zone (that's "Dee Em Zee" to you), which formerly separated North and South Vietnam along the 17th parallel. During the American war (as the locals like to call it), this area was anything but de-militarised. We visited some surviving Ho Chi Minh tunnels in a coastal village (at certain points an impressive 25m deep): American planes had dropped 10,000 tonnes of bombs per square kilometre over the surrounding area (inlcuding all the ancient tribal villages in the way). Many of the bombs were 'digging' bombs, which explode once on the surface, then burrow into the tunnels and explode again. Thankfully in this case, none of the bombs made a direct hit on the tunnels, and many people (including 17 babies born in the tunnels) survived.

On leaving Hue for Danang (and the beach!), on another 'tourist' bus, we encountered an overturned lorry on a hairpin bend up a mountain and got stuck behind two trucks full of cows, tied to the roof of the trucks by their necks and noses! Not painful at all! Four hours late, we finally got to Danang, but we didn't actually get there because the bus only stopped 11km south in a little place called Ngon Noc or something or other. (It's a dirty old backwater next to five mountains, all made from different marble). I forget how to spell it. We're trying to forget the whole place to be honest. We got taken on wobbly bikes to a old concrete block of a hotel run by an old woman with the biggest, brownest Betel-nut-stained teeth you've ever seen, and checked in. Have you ever arrived somewhere and thought 'You on Bubba's land now'?. Well, let me tell you, Bubba don't just live in the mid-West US of A. He has his fingers in many proverbial pies. Indeed, I believe the land we were on was owned by his cousin Budda.

It rained... the beach was deserted and we were starving, so we went to the only restaurant we could see on the seafront. It was run by two giggly girls, and things were going just swell until (ten minutes after taking our order) they finally confessed that they had no food. We did eventually manage to get a plate of chips out of them after considerable effort. Still starving, we went past staggering quantities of marble sculptures (mainly of huge ugly lions) to another restaurant in the 'town'. Waiting for our food to arrive, Barney felt a strange sensation under the table. It was a dog... a micturating dog... indeed micturating right on his foot. When the food came, we were delighted to discover it was more dog... cooked dog... cooked dog that even the dog refused to eat... we know: we tried to make him scoff it as punishment for weeing on us! We stayed locked in our room that night, and couldn't even bring ourselves to venture out for dinner.

We spent the following morning trying to avoid the cheeky 18-year-old local who had been avidly following us since our arrival, intent on smiling cutely whilst lying to us about everything. After shaking him off (oo-er), we were fortunate enough to be picked up (while waiting for the bus) by a guy in an old car on his way to Hoi An. Since this was our chosen destination and he was charging less than the notorious 'tourist' bus, we had a most pleasant, spacious, comfortable journey down to Hoi An. Ahhh! Nice people, nice hotel, nice river, nice boat ride, nice tailor-made clothes and bags at very nice prices. So, we've had a bit of retail therapy to get over our hideous journeys and our encounter with freaksville and we're off for a ruby in a minute. Contentment has reached us at last. We're off to My Son tomorrow to see some Cham dynasty historical sights and then we're off to Nha Trang for a couple of days of R&R on the beach. As that all sounds rather too much like an easy life, we've gone and booked ourselves on THE NIGHT BUS... but this time, they assure us it's new, manufactured in 2001! And, they're picking us up first so we can choose the best seats! We'll see...

:: Barney 2:13 PM [+] ::
...

Viet Nam

(actually the locals spell it with a few more accents, but let's not split hairs)

Ha Noi & Halong Bay

(again, we'll overlook the accents thing)

We've spent a total of 4 days in this 'Hanoi pit of Hell'. So far we have both resisted the urge to stick our watches up our bums, so we are doing significantly better than Christopher Walken's GI pal in 'Pulp Fiction'. Instead we have been waking up early like good little tourists and leaving plenty of time to queue up and follow the hordes of bleeting Chinese tourists around the main sites. Before we go into that, it's worth going back to our first impressions of this place, as it is nothing like anywhere either of us have been before.

We flew into Hanoi from Vientiane on 5th August. We chose that day because the flight alternated between Lao Aviation (whose reputation is atrocious) and Vietnam Air. We were promised the latter, but at the last minute were herded onto the former, which gave us both the jitters. The plane had about 80 seats and two propellers, one of which seemed more eager to start up than the other. In any case, the flight turned out to be problem free, if a little uncomfortable, and the cardboard box full of 'food' was certainly entertaining... If a semi-raw heart-shaped fried egg, a segment of boot-leather and a green satsuma are to your taste that is. Having enjoyed the breathtaking scenery for 75 minutes, we stepped off the plane into an oven, albeit an extremely modern oven. After Vientiane airport, which boasted up to five flights a day, and had to be opened especially to allow us to check-in, Hanoi airport was like a 25th century space-station, with suited-and-booted business types inside and spanking new air-con minibuses lining up under the flyover outside. However, we soon realised that the people were up to the same old tricks. Within seconds of departing we had been approached by legions of touts offering taxis, buses, money and all sorts. In the end we got the tourist minibus, then the fun really began.

Vietnamese roads are like no others (n.b. We reserve the right to alter this statement when we get to Cambodia). Firstly, there are very few cars, so space is divided between motorbikes, buses and cyclos (bicycles with seats attached to the front – see current picture on homepage). Secondly, traffic lights, stop signs and other rules of the road are things which happen to someone else. Regardless of where you are and what right of way you have, bikes come at you from left, right and centre, and frequently from underneath too, judging by the number of abandoned crashed vehicles lining the way. This would be fine if numbers were limited, but with something like 10 bikes per head of population, it adds up to total chaos. To cross the road, you either wait for a suitable gap (and never move), or step out with your eyes closed and pray for dear life that they go round you.

Amongst all this chaos, however, Hanoi is a great place. There are more French colonial remnants than you can shake a stick at, but it still has a unique feel, and plenty of places to get away from it all. The Hoan Kiem lake is a real relief from the sticky, crowded higgledy-piggledy old town, and the 10th Century Temple of Literature (founded by no less than Confucius) is about as tranquil as it gets. On the historical side, we went to Hoa Lo Prison, which was set up by the French as a handy place for torturing locals who seemed to be getting too left wing for the colonialists’ liking, and which was later used by the Socialist government to hold captured American pilots. The US pilots called it the ‘Hanoi Hilton’. The real Hilton is down the same street, and it’s hard to say if this is grim irony or something else entirely. After the misery of the cells in death row and the gruseome French guillotine, amusement was provided by the proudly-displayed propaganda shots of smiling American pilots with brimming plates of food in front of them. Methinks the reality of the place was somewhat different.

The other big tourist trap is the area around Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum. Apart from the sight of his waxy corpse (which is sent to Russia for 3 months a year for ‘maintenance’, in the grand old tradition of Lenin and co.), you can see the stilt house where your man Ho lived and worked, the gardens he strolled in, and there is even a museum dedicated to the struggle, the revolution and the successes of the Socialist government (which are many, compared to other Socialist states). You can even buy postcards of the great man pensively smoking a fag. Marvellous.

After 3 days in Hanoi we headed to the Aussie-run Kangaroo Café (they’re SO original with their names, these Aussies) and booked ourselves on a 3-day trip to Halong bay, on the coast to the East of Hanoi. Halong Bay is a collection of 3,000 islands and islets set in emerald waters. Once again, they are in a karst formation, so the steep slopes and death-defying forests which cling to the sides are breathtaking. There are numerous caves to explore, as well as a Monkey Island, where inquisitive monkey-taunting tourists can catch rabies for less than the price of a rabies jab. We resisted the temptation, and swam out to a deserted beach half a mile away, where we were able to enjoy the sight of washed up coke cans, fishing nets and polystyrene life-saving rings undisturbed by other tourists. The evening was when it all got a bit special though. When darkness fell, the boat was moored in the middle of the water, and after dinner we all jumped in from the roof of the boat. Every underwater movement produced a phosphorescent glittering effect, as the energy-filled plankton lit up. Apparently trhis only occurs in warm waters, but it is a truly impressive sight and all of us felt that this alone was worth the trip. We fell asleep on the deck of the boat feeling justifiably smug… Those of us who eat seafood were also treated to the delights of locally caught cuisine, and the crab in particular was as good as any that the ever-omnivorous Barney had ever sampled.

:: Barney 9:30 AM [+] ::
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GCSE paper 2: Lao P.D.R.

Luang Prabang, Vang Vieng, Vientiane

Answer all of the following questions, with an emphasis on tedium. Ensure that your readers are left exasperated and fatigued by your work. You have 16 hours.

(1.) Did you find Luang Prabang to be:

a) A charming, eccentric French colonial-style town, with balconied houses overlooking a multitude of bakeries, cafés and restaurants?

b) Based at the confluence of two of Lao’s most important rivers, the Nam Khan and the Mekong?

c) A lovely relaxing place to while away a couple of days, with stunning waterfalls and caves nearby, as well as a hilltop Wat with 360 degree birds-eye views of the town and the sunset enveloping it, not to mention a opportunely-timed rainbow (see pictures in Gallery)?

d) An intergalactic series of milky ways, amusingly forming into the shape of a horse’s arse?

(2.) a) Did you at any time in Luang Prabang, go and see a local show, presented by the least-charismatic man on Earth in broken English and French over an inaudibly distorted loudspeaker?

b) During this show, were you presented to all the ‘actors’ by name and age? For 2 bonus points, were you amused by the fact that the oldest of the actors was 89 years old and named Mr Old? Were you impressed when Mr Old performed a dance holding a 20-litre gourd full of water between his crumbling teeth?

(3.) Moving onto Vang Vieng: On which of the following occasions were you left with the greatest proportion of your muscular and skeletal systems in abject agony?

a) The “bus”-ride from Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng? (For a bonus ten points, describe conditions on the bus.)

A staggering 5-inches legroom between the seats (don’t ask how we measured it). A 200km, 7-hour rollercoaster ride, stopping strangely after 6-hours for the long-awaited ‘mid-way’ break. On average, one landslide per km of mountainous, poorly-paved road. Some of the landslides had obliterated the road, leaving only a mud-track, and others were still being shoveled as we drove over them. All part of the experience though…

b) The “activity” day with a group of 12 “enthusiasts” from England, Ireland, Australia and Korea, consisting of kayaking, inner-tubing down the fast-flowing river and into a cave with only inches of headroom, not to mention bats and spiders… Oh, and the 2-hour crawl (sometimes on your stomachs) through the pitch black cave, with jagged wet rocks and silt under you, clutching a candle between your teeth for dear life? Not to mention the jumping off an Indiana Jones-style rope bridge, and some more kms of kayaking, in the process of which nearly losing the Irish contingent in the rapids, sparking a panicked hour-long rescue mission? (For a bonus ten points, describe the barbecued catbabs served up for lunch by the “traditional” Lao villagers in their “traditional” bamboo hut?)

Mmmmmm… Yummy…

c) The time you ate that dodgy green curry and were left with battery-acid bum for the next 3 sodding days?

d) The life-or-death scrabble through the rucksack in the pitch black to find the Imodium?

(4.) In your experience, is Vientiane:

a) The least-convincing capital city you’ve ever seen?

b) A city with only two buildings containing lifts?

c) The muddiest, most open-sewered city in Buddendom?

d) Just over the Mekong from Thailand?

e) Actually quite charming, with cool, friendly monk dudes desperate to practice their English, and who then take you on an impromptu visit inside their temple, and get Buddha to predict your future (for a modest fee), using only a small red stick.

f) All of the above.

This is the end of the Lao P.D.R. paper 2 test.
:: Barney 1:02 PM [+] ::
...

Luang Prabang

A few facts about the Lao Peoples' Democratic Republic:

• It is one of the World's ten poorest countries


• It is neither Democratic, nor does it belong to the people, yet they all seem incredibly happy with their lot, and very kind to farangs (Western tourists) for no better reason than it's nicer to be kind than not.


• It has the dubious honour of being the World's most-bombed country ever. During the 9 years of the Vietnam war, the Americans secretly dumped the equivalent of one tonne of bombs every nine minutes, night and day. Most of the cluster bombs and landmines are still uncleared, making country walks just that little bit hairy...


• There are only 2 paved roads in Lao. Until recently, bandits plied the routes, holding everyone travelling on Route 13 at gunpoint. Thankfully, this has been stopped and the roads are safe again.


• Beer Lao is absolutely magic. It don't be giving you a hangover or nuttin. Oh, and the banana and chocolate pancakes (at 30p a pop) are a God-send too.
  

  
  We had written pages of interesting stuff about Luang Prabang here, but somehow the computer managed to delete it all. You'll have to wait till we can afford to come back and re-write it...
  :: Barney 2:13 PM [+] ::
  ...

Lao Peoples' Democratic Republic

Pakbeng

This is a tiny two-pig riverside transit town which seems to exist solely as a stop-off point halfway between Chiang Kong in Thailand and Luang Prabang in Lao P.D.R. It could be a lovely place, providing the perfect resting place to break up the 2-day long river journey. However, it consists of some seriously grotty rat-infested guesthouses-cum-brothels and a load of drug dealers. Our only option was to check into the only place which looked remotely inhabitable, the overpriced hotel on the riverfront. It was one of the poshest places in town, boasting electricity for up to four hours per evening, and occasional hot water through the shower hose (this is rare in any guesthouse, so it was welcome). It even had its own restaurant, although if they didn't have what you wanted, they just slapped something else down in front of you and grunted. Still, the views made up for this. In any case we were back on the boat before 9am and off to lovely Luang Prabang.
:: Barney 1:39 PM [+] ::
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